“Maybe he’s tired,” said Tommie, “and if you talk to him in the morning, you’ll find him different.”
“I don’t believe it,” said George, “he means what he says. Question is, what’s turned him on us?”
“Turned him on us? Why, my taking those rotten diamonds off to the ship—what else? I didn’t know he’d take it like that, how could I?”
“Then go and explain,” said George, “go and tell him you’re sorry.”
“We ain’t all as clever as you, I know,” said Hank. “S’pose those Mexicans come down to-night on us, you’ll see if it was a fool’s game getting the valuables off first. I tell you we ought to have cleared off this evening, it’s plain not safe sticking here the night. We _would_ have cleared only for B. C., fooling about.”
“He was looking for me,” quietly put in Tommie.
Hank, squashed for the moment, was silent, then he said: “Well, maybe, but there we are, in about as dangerous a fix as people could be, and you talk of fools’ games.”
“By the way,” said George, “have you brought off those automatics?”
“Those which—automatics—Lord, no—I forgot, clean. How’s a chap to be remembering things, running backwards and forwards from that damned ship? Clean——”
“Well, it’s not the first thing you’ve forgotten, and if you’re so anxious about the Mexicans, you’d better go and fetch them.”
“Me! I ain’t going to fetch and carry any more. Go yourself.”
“Pistols aren’t any use,” said Tommie, suddenly as if awaking from a reverie. “If those people come, there’ll be so many of them it won’t be any use firing at them and if any of them were shot, we might get into trouble.”
Candon had returned and was standing just outside the fire zone. He seemed in a slightly better temper.
“Why, Hank here has forgot to bring off the automatics,” said George, “and he’s afraid of those Mexicans coming down on us in the night.”
“Lord, I hadn’t thought of that,” said B. C. almost in his old voice. “Well, I’ll go off and fetch them. I’ve got to fetch a couple of things I’ve left in my locker anyway.” He turned.
“Fetch the ammunition if you’re going,” said George.
They heard him calling the Chinks, then the boat put off.
“Seems he’s still bent on quitting,” said Hank.
If the air of the Bay of Whales could be condensed and bottled, morphia would be a drug in the drug market. It had the two men now firmly in its grip. They determined to turn in without waiting for B. C., and Tommie, retiring to her tent, seemed as heavy with sleep as the others. She was not. She did not undress but just lay down on a blanket, her chin in the palms of her hands and gazing out on the starlit beach as though hypnotized.